We were friends once
by silvereign
Summary: Prompted by archaeologist d on LJ. Arthur had friends in Episode 1, running around laughing at the poor suckers who worked for the Knights. But in later episodes, they disappear. What happens to them? Rated for angst and a character’s death. A/M slash.


**Disclaimers: **Not mine, never will be (that's sad).

**Author's notes:** This fic was prompted by **archaeologist_d**, who kindly let me use her plot bunny... Also posted on LJ community MerlinXArthur. It's slash, so don't like, dont read. It's also a bit angsty. I'm not english, so sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes.

**We were friends (once)**

"What have I done to you?" he asks, with a hint of desperation in his voice. He tries to struggle against the ropes that tie his wrists.

I look at him, and I can't hide the disgust I feel as I reply to him.

"You…You've done everything."

And he has. Maybe not consciously, but he has. I had everything, everything I've ever wished for before this dishevelled, humble peasant arrived at Camelot and defied my Prince.

I was one of the Prince's closest friends; he hang out with us even more than he did with his loyal knights, and we were so glad he chose us as his companions. We had so much fun together; I was never bored when I hang out with my Prince.

But one day, all this was taken away from me.

After the episode at the marketplace, when Prince Arthur fought the peasant with the mace, he began to look less and less for us, as he preferred to be with his new manservant. At first, we didn't mind it very much; we thought that, like every over-excited child, he was eager to play with his new toy. But with time, he started to become more serious, more concentrated on becoming a King, and he had no more times for boasting with us.

We became useless to him.

I stare at this servant, unable to stop the hatred that fills my insides. This is his entire fault.

I hit him, once, twice, until he begs me to stop, until my knuckles become red.

He looks at me, tears in his eyes. He can't understand why I'm doing this to him, why I've abducted him and beaten him into a pulp. I have to admit to feeling an intense satisfaction when I see his eye is swelling.

"Why?" he asks, his eyes narrowed in a gesture of defiance. He's brave, even if stupid. I have to recognize it.

"Just because", I reply, grinning. Because I can, because I'm broader than you, because I'm of noble birth and you are just a servant. We never needed any excuse for picking a servant and hitting him. Prince Arthur was usually the one to initiate this kind of activity, taking his pleasure in terrifying those poor boys. But that was _before_; before this peasant came to the castle, before he enchanted our Prince into believing he is better than us.

But I know better. I know my Prince, and I know that, once this servant is out of the game, he will come back to us, and everything will be as before.

I crouch besides my prey, and I smirk as I see him squirming.

"You do not gloat now, eh, servant? I know you thought yourself better than me, I know you placed yourself in a pedestal, looking at everyone from head to toe just because you felt safe, being the Prince's trusted servant. How does it feel now that your Sire is not here to defend you? You don't feel so superior now, do you?"

The peasant shakes his head.

"I… I've never thought myself better than anyone. I don't know what you've been thinking, but I swear that my position as Arthur's manservant is certainly not making me feel superior." He wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Especially not after I have had the dubious honour of washing his socks."

That's another thing that makes me go mad. I've been friends with the Prince since childhood, but we have never been on first names terms. I know I would have been flogged for my impertinence if I tried.

And yet this servant can call him '_Arthur_' whenever he wants, even when they are in public, and the most he can get is a raised eyebrow.

"You should watch your mouth, servant," I say, "It's your Prince you're referring to."

He chuckles.

"You should hear what I say to him face to face."

Oh, how I want to wipe that insolent smirk from his face! How can the Prince tolerate this lack of respect from his servant?

I slap him, making sure my ring connects with his lip, leaving a bleeding cut.

He turns serious in an instant.

"What do you want from me?" he asks, with the usual defiance in his tone.

"I want to make you pay for turning Prince Arthur against us", I tonelessly reply, before showing my knife.

He sputters indignantly, again trying to struggle with the ropes.

"I've never… I've never spoken a single word to Arthur against any of you."

I repress a chuckle. How naïf he is.

"You didn't need to, servant. You've filled his head with all that crap about him becoming a great King, about him being better than he showed, and he started to believe it. To believe he could be a legendary leader. He told this to us, once. He told us he didn't need us around anymore, because we ere blindly following him. He told us he needed someone who could tell him plain to face when he is doing the wrong thing, like you do."

The servant shakes his head.

"But it is hardly my fault, if I'm honest with him, while the rest of you just settle with licking his boots!"

I can't restrain myself; I kick him hard in the stomach. His irreverent attitude just unnerves me.

"Oh, it's so easy to speak like that when you have the Prince's favour, isn't it? You feel so safe because he made you believe he cares for you… But where is he now? If he cared so much, why isn't he here to save you?"

The servant's eyes set in determination, and for the first time since I've kidnapped him three hours ago, I can sense an intense, obscure power radiating from him, and I feel terrified.

"Trust me, I can save myself whenever I want", he deadpans, and somehow I believe what he's saying is true. "But, even if I wasn't able to, I would never want Arthur to look for me. His life is so much more valuable than mine; I can't let him waste it over something as useless as me."

I don't understand. How can he so easily belittle the Prince, call him names, and be so disrespectful, and yet be willing to die for him?

He laughs bitterly at me; it's like he has guessed my thoughts as he speaks.

"That's the difference between you and I. You think you respect Arthur more than I do because you call him by his title and bow at his every gesture. But a title is just what it is: an empty word invented by men. I don't think it makes him more a Prince than he already is at heart. I'll probably never learn to call him by his title, but I'm prepared to die if it means he'll live and accomplish the great fate he's destined to."

"Well, Merlin, if I didn't know you better, I should probably be worried of your suicidal instincts", a deep voice states. I tremble as I turn around to acknowledge his owner. Prince Arthur.

The servant beams as he spots him.

"Arthur, I am already worried… After all I'm willing to die for a complete prat. I have probably gone mad."

"Or maybe you are an idiot, just like I've been telling you for months now."

Prince Arthur smiles tenderly at his servant, in contrast with the insult his words imply. I'm shocked, for I've never seen a feeling so deep showing on my Prince's face.

He crouches beside the peasant, and inspects his swollen eye and his bleeding lip with a feathery touch. Their eyes are locked so intensely, that I can almost hear the silent conversation they're sharing.

But Prince Arthur's gaze turns into ice as he casts his eyes on me.

"What have you done to him?" He asks, his jaw firmly set. His stance is so authoritative that I feel compelled to answer him, though I know it would be my condemnation.

"I've punched him, Sire. I've hit him and kicked him." I'm almost dazed by the truthfulness of my reply.

He lunges at me, his sword in his hand, and I'm prepared for the blow that is surely to come.

But he stops, just an inch from my throat.

The servant has grabbed his wrist, and he's looking at him with the same fierce determination he showed to me earlier on.

"Arthur. Don't", he simply say, and that command is enough for him to drop his sword.

The Prince's hand cups the peasant's cheek in an intimate gesture I'm not sure I'm allowed to witness.

"He hurt you" my Prince whispers, his lips almost touching those of his servant. "He could have taken you away from me…I can't allow him to live."

My heart stops at these words. He's choosing the life of a servant over mine.

The servant's eyes soften, and a smile tugs at his lips, while he turns to nuzzle at the hand that is still cupping his cheek. Again, I feel a slight discomfort at having to watch this scene.

"You are the Crown Prince; you cannot kill him like this, just for hitting a servant. Let him go."

I feel the anger boiling in my veins. He's doing that again; looking at me from head to toe, like I'm not worthier than a vermin. And I can read pity in his eyes. I can't tolerate pity from a servant.

I brandish my knife, and make a move to attack him.

It seems like everything stops moving. I can see my hand dropping the knife, and everything blurs as I stumble down.

In a second, I feel an intense pain at my chest, and I know my Prince has hit me with his sword. He kneels next to me, while I can barely breathe, and he moves some of my hair from my forehead.

I cough some blood, and I feel my moment has arrived.

"You were my friend", my Prince states. "And yet you would have killed someone close to me. Why?"

The truth is I don't know. It seemed such a good idea at the time.

"I just wanted to be acknowledged by you once more, Sire. Despite what you think of me now, I'm still your friend. I'll always be."

He sadly shakes his head and raises, taking comfort in the waiting arms of his servant.

The last thing I see is their joined hands as they walk away.

The end.

A/N: What do you think? Please, let me know!!


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